Athena Avenges
by lizziebennetgonesolo
Summary: Wizarding Britain believed her to be dead for eleven years, but even when her true fate is revealed, she cannot return to her previous life in the magical world. Instead, desirous of a fresh start, she joins the Avengers Initiative, to which she brings a unique arsenal of skills and a whole new set of adversaries for Earth's Mightiest Heroes to face.
1. Prologue, Part 1: Athena

**A/N: Hmm. Well. This is going to be interesting.**

 **My muse won't leave me alone, so this happened. As if I needed another WIP. Oh well. XD**

 **Here's a taste of what is to come; I hope you enjoy it. Please let me know your thoughts in a review if you can spare the time. Also, I haven't completely decided on pairings yet, so if you want to make your preferences known, now would be the time ;)**

 **On we go!**

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 **Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or the Marvel Cinematic Universe. No copyright infringement is intended in the sharing of this story, and I make no money from it.**

 **Warning: Character deaths, mature themes, and profanity. This story diverges from canon and branches off into a much darker and less idealistic future than the one that J. K. Rowling depicted, only partly due to the Marvel side of things. Don't like, don't read; it's that simple.**

* * *

When Neville was little, he had dreamed of becoming an Auror.

Of course he had; his grandmother had raised him on stories of his parents' prowess in the time before Bellatrix had shattered their minds, told him tales of the criminals they'd caught and the people they'd saved and how masterfully they'd done it all. They were his heroes, and what little boy doesn't want to emulate his heroes?

He'd thought that in becoming an Auror, he might be able to connect with his parents in a way that he never could during his visits to the Janus Thickey Ward. He'd also hoped that, even if they couldn't understand that he'd followed in their footsteps, in their hearts, they would be proud of him.

For the longest time, though, being an Auror hadn't seemed to be in the cards, a fact of which Augusta Longbottom had reminded him constantly. Neville had been such a disappointment to her, and she'd never been afraid of pointing it out or tactful enough to leave well enough alone.

She wanted him to be his father reincarnate, right down to the wand she'd gifted him on his eleventh birthday and insisted he use. But whereas Frank had been a child bursting with magical potential and then a well-rounded and gifted student, Neville's relatives had feared his being a Squib for years before the incident with Algie, and when he'd miraculously been invited to Hogwarts, he'd struggled with everything but Herbology.

After his first week of lessons, his dream had been crushed; Neville had known he just didn't have what it took to be an Auror. He'd cried himself to sleep on more than one occasion that first September, stifling the sound of his sobs in his pillow so as not to wake the other boys.

Neville had tried to accept his own mediocrity as best he could, but when he'd called himself "stupid" one day in Study Hall, Hermione Granger was having none of it.

That little girl with the big, brown eyes and the wild curls and the wide, uneven smile, that friendly face who'd helped him find Trevor when everyone else had just laughed, whether in his face or at his retreating back—she was not about to let him give up.

She'd dragged him to the library to study, patiently explaining things in ways that made more sense to him than the lecturing style most Hogwarts professors used in their lessons. She'd taught him how to write a passable essay, whispered instructions in his ear in Potions class when he lost his cool under Professor Snape's poisonous glare, and helped him to develop resilience when he was being bullied by the likes of Malfoy.

Her mantra for him had always been, "You can do it, Neville. You just need to work hard and have a little more faith in yourself."

Hermione had been the first person to see the potential in him, and without the strength of her conviction and her friendship, he would have surely faded into the background, hopes for the future abandoned.

And then, there had been Harry Potter.

Harry had stood up for Neville time and again, whether in first year when he'd fought Malfoy for the Remembrall despite never having ridden a broomstick, or in sixth year when Romilda Vane had tried to demean him and Luna on the Hogwarts Express.

Harry, like Hermione, had also seen something promising in Neville, and he'd pushed him hard—kindly, but hard nonetheless—during their D. A. sessions, convinced he could master the spells. Motivated by his increasing success and by Harry's obvious belief in him, Neville had worked his arse off and his dueling and spellcasting abilities had radically improved under his classmate's tutelage.

It wasn't just the lessons, though; Harry and Neville had been unique amongst their classmates in the degree to which they understood the seriousness of the Death Eaters' escape from Azkaban. They had both lost their parents, albeit in different ways, to the Dark Lord and his followers; it provided them with a different, less naive perspective than the majority of their classmates.

Neville had fought with Harry and Hermione in the battles of the years to come and had made it out alive despite his youth. His resolve had held when Bellatrix Lestrange had tortured him with the same curse she'd used on his parents. He'd led an underground resistance in Hogwarts in seventh year, first with Ginny and Luna's help and then on his own when they were kept away by no fault of their own. He'd endured torture at the hands of the Carrows. He'd defended Hogwarts, defied Voldemort face-to-face, and killed his familiar, Nagini, with the sword of Gryffindor.

Wizarding Britain had called him a hero for it—and it was Harry and Hermione who had taught him how to become one.

When the Battle of Hogwarts was over but the work rounding up escapee Death Eaters was far from over, he'd joined Ron and Harry in Auror training when Kingsley offered them an exemption from finishing their N.E.W.T.s. It was the perfect opportunity for Neville; he'd always done far better with a practical, hands-on approach to learning and because of that, he thrived under the trainee program. Even potions work started coming more easily to him.

Everything had been going well that first year in spite of the difficulty of the aftermath of the war. That wasn't to say there weren't rough patches; mourning the dead had been a heavy, heart-wrenching process, and the lot of the older Hogwarts students suffered from P.T.S.D., Neville included. But they got through it all together, and Hogwarts was rebuilt, the Ministry was cleaned up under Kingsley's leadership, and the community had begun to heal. Things were slowly but surely stabilizing by the end of the summer of 1998.

Neville, Ron, and Harry had gone on to complete Auror training as the top three recruits of their year, and Neville had never been more ecstatic. Harry and Hermione were equally as happy for him, his grandmother was almost smug in her satisfaction, and Neville knew that his parents would have been very proud.

Hermione, however, had declined Kingsley's offer, insistent upon finishing her education. "It's what my parents would have wanted," she'd explained to Neville when they'd met up as a group to catch up in Hogsmeade. And so she returned to Hogwarts as Head Girl and graduated, to no one's surprise, with top honours and perfect N.E.W.T. scores across the board. She received a job offer from the Department of Mysteries the day after term had ended and she had accepted it eagerly, curious about what being an Unspeakable would entail. Within the month, she'd earned her Unspeakable robes, hers being the fastest induction into the Department of Mysteries since its inception.

Ginny had graduated from Hogwarts and by early July had earned herself a reserve position on the Holyhead Harpies Quidditch team. Luna had met a man named Rolf Scamander—Newt's grandson—and had decided to go trekking with him across the continent, looking for undiscovered creatures, the stuff of myth.

Everyone had begun to feel happy again, to feel excited about the future.

But, of course, nothing lasts forever and so tragedy struck—in the form of one Rodolphus Lestrange.

Investigation after-the-fact had revealed that Bellatrix's equally deranged widower had torn apart the wards around the Tonks' home and viciously attacked his unsuspecting, estranged sister-in-law, who had been cleaning dishes in the kitchen upon his arrival. Given the state of the room, Andromeda had put up a desperate and valiant fight, but it hadn't been enough. Rodolphus had cut her down with what looked to be a modified version of _Sectumsempra_ before stepping over her corpse and climbing the main staircase to find Teddy Lupin.

He'd struck the sleeping infant with the Killing Curse and carved the words "A STAIN PURGED" in flaming letters on the wall above his crib.

Owls had flooded the Auror Office, declaring the presence of a Dark Mark in the sky and striking terror and dread into the hearts of everyone present.

The illusion of safety was shattered.

Harry's squad had been the first on the scene, Harry himself frantic when he'd learned of the location of the Dark Mark. Neville could still remember how he'd fallen to his knees, unable to hold back his sobs as he cradled his godson's body in his arms, apologizing endlessly to the boy's parents as he stroked the child's turquoise curls back from his face. Hermione had been the only one who Harry would allow to take Teddy away, and she'd done so with trembling hands and tear-stained cheeks.

It had been the day before Harry's 19th birthday.

The Head of the Auror Office at the time, Gawain Robards, had insisted that Harry take time off to mourn and the Boy-Who-Lived had accepted the order, unfeeling. He had completely closed off after Teddy and Andromeda's murders, reduced to a state verging on catatonic—and to drowning himself in Ogden's Finest.

He broke things off with Ginny for the second and final time in the weeks that followed, despite her pleas with him to reconsider. Not even Ron or Hermione had been able to coax him out of his misery despite continuous efforts—and their final attempt to do so was when everything had gone to hell.

The last anyone had ever heard of the Golden Trio was when Hermione had Floo-called Ginny to let her know that she and Ron were going over to 12 Grimmauld. Ginny had told the Auror Office in her official statement that their plan was to get rid of Harry's alcohol supply so that he would finally be forced to listen to reason.

That day, the 31st of September, 1999, at 12 Grimmauld Place, there had been a magical explosion so devastating that it obliterated the Black family wards, leveled the townhouse, and shattered the glass in the windows of every home on the street.

According to the press release issued by the Department of Mysteries some time later, the residual energy of the explosion had indicated the single largest feat of accidental magic on record in a millennium.

In the ashes, they'd found a broken pair of glasses and three charred but recognizable wands.

The wands of Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and Hermione Granger.

And again, for an entirely different reason—and yet another lost dream—Neville had cried himself to sleep for weeks.

But despite his grief, and despite the fact that most mornings throughout next few months, he barely had the energy to rise from his bed, Neville knew that the Wizarding public needed someone to step forward in the wake of the demise of the Golden Trio, someone in whom they could put their faith.

He only trusted one person for the job.

 _For Harry and Hermione,_ he'd thought to himself.

And so, four years later, Neville Longbottom took on the position as Head of the Auror Office.

* * *

The years passed as is their wont, and with the march of time came new enemies—new, _old_ enemies, that is.

From the dregs of the Death Eaters, a new, radical blood-purist faction had emerged under the leadership of that same Rodolphus Lestrange. After killing the remainder of the Tonks family, he had left Britain, finding a home in Scandinavia under the guise of a new identity. The ex-Death Eater had taken up the post of the Dark Arts professor at Durmstrang, and had used it to recruit young men from the upper years into his enclave.

They called themselves the _Magi Puro_ or "Pure Wizards", and their goal was to establish Pure-blood monarchies throughout Europe while subjugating Half-bloods and the Muggle-borns already introduced to magical society. However, according to the _Magi Puro,_ all future Muggle-borns would be left in the Muggle world "where they belonged," and thus within a few generations, the Wizarding world would be completely separated from the Muggle one.

They'd started out non-violently with rallies and protests and propaganda, and so for a while, they were willfully ignored. But when the first Swedish Muggle-borns and their families began disappearing, the Swedish Ministry hadn't been able to ignore the problem any longer and had finally requested the aid of the British, French, Dutch, and German ministries in subduing the _Magi Puro_.

As a result of that decision as well as several others, eleven years after the deaths of Harry Potter, Ronald Weasley, and Hermione Granger, Head Auror Neville Longbottom was summoned before the Minister for Magic.

* * *

Neville was seated in the reception area outside of the Minister's office, trying not to tap his foot as he waited for Kingsley to finish his meeting. The Junior Assistant to the Minister, a young brunette woman named Seraphina, shot him a small, sheepish grin from her seat at the main desk.

"Sorry, Auror Longbottom," she said. "He's in there on a Floo call with the French Minister, and believe me—that man can _talk._ "

Neville laughed, appreciative of the levity. "Oh yeah, I know," he replied. "I met him a couple of years ago at the International Auror Convention. He had me trapped in a one-sided conversation for twenty minutes before Robards came to my rescue."

Seraphina giggled. "Yep, that sounds about right. You know, sometimes I think he does it on purpose just to see us Brits squirm."

Neville mulled that possibility over for a moment before shaking his head with a grimace. "Nah," he said, "I'm pretty sure he just really likes the sound of his own voice."

Seraphina nodded ruefully. "Oh, well, either way, _that_ is the truth, without a doubt."

The two chuckled. Seraphina opened her mouth to say something else, but before she could, the door to the Minister's office swung open and a harassed-looking Kingsley Shacklebolt swept into the room.

Neville was on his feet immediately. "Minister," he greeted Kingsley, extending his hand.

"Auror Longbottom," Kingsley replied, shaking it firmly, his voice as low and steady as ever. "Please, come in."

Neville motioned for Kingsley to lead the way and sent a quick smile in Seraphina's direction before following the Minister into his office and shutting the door behind them.

Once they were seated, all formalities and pretenses were dropped.

"How are you holding up, Neville?" asked Kingsley, his mouth a tight, grim line.

"I'm restless as hell, to be honest," Neville replied with complete candidness. "I keep having nightmares, Kingsley. About what happened to them all. Teddy, Dromeda, Harry, Ron, Hermione...my parents...they ask me to avenge them. Over and over and over again, they ask me to kill that ruddy bastard, and I've been waiting so long for the chance to go after him. I'm just glad that the Swedish are done bloody prevaricating."

"You and me both," agreed Kingsley. In the dim light of the fire above the hearth, the lines on his face were thrown into relief, revealing just how very tired the man was. "Which brings us to why I wanted to speak with you. We need to discuss how this operation is going to play out."

"Of course," Neville responded eagerly. "I have some ideas about how we can coordinate the troops from the different Ministries; I've been looking into the personnel files, and—"

"Actually, Neville," the Minister interrupted quietly, "you aren't going to be coordinating the teams this time around."

Neville's eyebrows rose in surprise before chagrin warmed his cheeks. Silently, he berated himself for the reaction. _Get a grip,_ he thought to himself, _you're not a trainee anymore, you're the_ Head _for Merlin's sake._

Aloud, he remarked, "Oh, I see," and tried not to sound disappointed. Steeling himself, he continued, "I take it that Auror Bergström will be taking care of that side of things, then?"

Kingsley smiled at him knowingly. "No, Neville," he replied, his voice serious despite the hint of amusement still lingering in his eyes. "Auror Bergström will not be leading the mission either, and nor will the other Head Aurors participating in the operation."

Neville stared at his old friend, bewildered. "So are the Ministers directly overseeing this, then?" he asked, incredulous. "Because while I trust your experience, Kingsley, none of the other Ministers have served as Aurors, and that's bound to be a problem."

Kingsley smiled, but the dread and exhaustion in his eyes rendered the expression flat. "It would be if that were the case," he agreed once more, "but it isn't."

When the Minister didn't continue, Neville felt himself tense. "Kingsley—what's going on here? What haven't you told me?" he demanded, his tone wary.

"Before I _do_ tell you, Neville, I need you to understand something." Kingsley waited for his coworker's nod and when he received it, maintained steady eye contact as he proceeded. "I was not aware of what I'm about to tell you until the beginning of this year, and to learn of it myself, I had to enter into an Unbreakable Vow that forbade me from sharing the knowledge with anyone without the express permission of an Unspeakable."

Neville sighed, exasperated. "All right, Kingsley, I understand; now, please, get to the bleeding point. I doubt I'm going to like this, so just get it over with already."

Kingsley's jaw clenched and he grimaced. "The Unspeakables," he said slowly and with a great deal of disdain, "have taken it upon themselves to create what they are calling an E.A., or Enhanced Auror; a person who has elevated senses, a near-superhuman intellect, formidable strategic and tactical instincts, mastery of a wide range of different styles of combat, both magical and non-magical—you get the idea. According to the Unspeakable in charge of the project, they experimented with the enhancements for years before they were satisfied with the result. They want the E.A. to lead the attack, and honestly, as much as I despise them for what they've done, I agree with them, and so do the other Ministers. After seeing the E.A. in action, I don't think anyone is more capable."

Neville let out a long breath. "Wow," he uttered. "So, what, they created this person from nothing, for the sole purpose of being a military asset to the Ministry?" asked Neville, disbelieving.

Kingsley shook his head, grimness exuding from every pore of his face. "No," he said, his voice low and dark, "they didn't.

"They had a test subject whom they claim agreed to what was done to them, but there was definite coercion involved."

"Why?" asked Neville. "What was done to them? No, forget that a minute—who is it, Kingsley? Who was the test subject?"

Kingsley sighed. "You're not going to believe me unless you see for yourself."

"Fine," snapped Neville, his patience stretched thin. "Can you bring them here?" Kingsley nodded, the motion curt and reluctant. "Then do it," Neville told him, his eyebrows raised as if daring Kingsley to refuse.

The Minister did not refuse. Instead, he seemed to measure Neville for a moment. Finally, just when Neville's foot started to tap of its own accord, the Minister sighed heavily. "Okay, Neville," he said. "I'll call her here. But I'm warning you; this is going to be a shock. It certainly was for me."

Neville gave a jerky nod and tried to brace himself even as his thoughts raced.

 _Her? It's a her? Which her? I obviously know her, but who...?_

The Minister stood and Neville copied him, his body seeming to move independently of his mind. Kingsley cleared his throat once and then, in a clear, sombre tone, he called out, "Athena...report."

Neville started slightly as the _CRACK!_ of Apparition sounded, echoing off of the office's marble walls.

A woman of average height had joined the two occupants of the room. Her body, which faced Kingsley, was clad in a jumpsuit in a shade of violet so dark that Neville would have thought it to be black if it weren't for the light of the chandelier overhead. Its fabric was entrancing; it looked almost fluid, as if a matte paint had been dripped onto the woman's body and had yet to fully dry. The curvature of her muscles was clearly visible through the suit; she was all lean, sinewy strength, in her back, her arms, her legs. Her posture was sublime, her body like a drawn bow, ready to fire an arrow at the first sign of trouble.

Above her sculpted neck, her ash-brown hair was arranged into a simple, utilitarian bun, from which a handful of tiny ringlets had managed to escape, huddling together around the base of her skull.

"Athena," greeted Kingsley, sounding entirely resigned. "Please allow me to re-introduce you to Neville Longbottom."

The woman gave a small nod to the Minister and turned to face Neville, whose jaw immediately dropped.

Oh, she had changed, there was no doubt about it. Her face was slimmer than he seemed to remember, her cheekbones thrown into relief by the chandelier's light. Her eyes were no longer brown, but instead a crystalline amethyst, and their empty expression was just as foreign as their new colour. But the rest of her features had not been altered, and neither had the hue of her hair, though Neville had not immediately placed it.

 _Bloody buggering hell._

"Hermione?" Neville whispered.

The woman frowned, her violet eyes shuttered and cold.

"No," she replied quietly, and Neville shuddered; the anguish in her voice was palpable. "No. Not anymore."


	2. Prologue, Part 2: The Goddess

**A/N: Oh my goodness! Thank you all so much for the follows, favourites, and reviews, lovely readers. The response to this story has made me so happy!**

 **A reminder that the pairings are still up in the air and that this is your chance to have some input into that aspect of the story. So far, I have one vote for Hermione/Natasha and that is all. Get those votes in should you desire to have a say. :) (Just as a note, I would be amenable to writing a triad relationship as well, if there was enough interest for it.)**

 **Also, if you can spare a moment, please let me know your thoughts on this chapter in a review or PM; I love hearing from you all, so don't be shy!**

 **Here is the next chapter! (The one after it sees the introduction of SHIELD and the Avengers.)**

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 **Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or the Marvel Cinematic Universe. No copyright infringement is intended in the sharing of this story, and I make no money from it.**

 **For warnings, see the disclaimer section of Part 1 of the Prologue.**

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"What do you mean, not anymore?" demanded Neville, equal parts shocked, bewildered, and frustrated. "If you aren't Hermione, then _who_ are you and what's happened to her?"

"As the Minister stated, Auror Longbottom, my name is Athena," the brunette replied, and there was a rote, reflexive quality to the response. "I _was_ Hermione Granger, that much is true. But the Hermione Granger that you knew is gone. She may as well have died the day that 12 Grimmauld Place was obliterated."

"Yeah, that's a good place to start. What in Merlin's name happened that day and how did you—or Hermione," he glared at her, as if daring her to correct him, "—even survive a blast of that magnitude? It should've been impossible."

"'Should've been,' Auror Longbottom?" asked Athena, frowning. "You bore witness to Harry Potter rising from the dead to defeat an immortal madman with many times his skill and experience. Surely you understand the foolishness in the normativity of a phrase like 'should've been?'"

The man in question spluttered. "I—you—Oh, bloody hell! No, you're evading the question! Don't try to distract me; I want a straight answer."

"I cannot provide one for you," Athena told him, sounding genuinely remorseful. "That information is classified."

"Classified by whom, exactly?"

"The Department of Mysteries."

"Figures," muttered Neville. "Bloody bastards. How could they keep this from us? You were alive! Did they even give you a choice in all of this?" Hermione—Athena—just looked at Neville blankly. He returned her stare, though his was one of disbelief. "What did they do to you?" he whispered, his hope drowning in the indifferent, violet pools circling her pupils.

"Beyond equipping me with the qualities that will contribute to my usefulness in this mission, nothing that concerns you, Auror Longbottom," Athena answered, her tone not brusque or angry, just matter-of-fact. "I am here to provide assistance, and then I will return to my regular duties."

"Which, I'm guessing, are also classified?" asked Neville, consternation pinching his cheeks and creasing his brow.

"That is correct," replied Athena, a sliver of sympathy working its way onto her face as the harsh line of her lips softened infinitesimally. She took a small step forward. "A word of advice, Auror Longbottom," she said to him. "Try to think of me as an entirely different person from the one you used to know. You mustn't be distracted; your men and women will be counting on you to lead them. Focus on them, remember them, and all will be well."

"All will not be well," Neville retorted. "Not while you're like this, Hermione."

"Athena," she chastised him. "My name is Athena, whether you like it or not, Auror Longbottom. I will not answer to 'Hermione.'"

Neville collapsed back into his chair, propping his elbows on his knees and burying his head in his hands. "How do you expect me to explain this to the other Aurors? Lots of them—the British ones especially!—will recognize you and think you're the old Hermione. You want to talk about distractions? That's a distraction."

"Which is why I will be wearing a Glamour Charm, Auror Longbottom," Athena reassured him, waving her hand over her face so that her features warped into the face of an austere, middle-aged woman who mildly resembled Minerva McGonagall. She passed her fingers over her face once more and it reverted to its natural appearance. "Problem solved."

"If you were planning on doing that, then why did you have to tell me who you are in the first place?" Neville shouted, wanting nothing more than to forget the past five minutes.

"Because, Auror Longbottom," explained Athena, and Neville's eyes widened slightly as he recognized a hint of the patronizing tone that Hermione used to adopt when she was growing impatient with someone, "you, the other Head Aurors, and the foreign Ministers would have had questions about who I was, what my qualifications were, how I was to be trusted, etcetera, etcetera.

"I could have created false credentials that would have been enough to convince the lot of you, yes." She nodded thoughtfully, her head tipping to one side, and then she sighed, crouching down in front of Neville to meet his skeptical gaze with earnestness. "But this is the first time that I've been allowed to do things my way instead of following the Department's protocol. I wanted to have some level of honesty with you, if just for the sake of professional courtesy. And," she added ruefully, her eyes seeking understanding, "to be quite honest, it's about time someone outside of the Department besides the Minister knows that I exist. Suffice it to say that I don't trust the Department very much with my well-being," she told Neville with a conspiratorial grimace.

"But I've gone off-track. Essentially, Auror Longbottom, I wanted to do this ethically, I wanted, perhaps selfishly, for others to know of my existence, and I wanted to accelerate the entire planning process by revealing my identity. In any case, now you know who I am, and you know that I can be trusted."

Neville raised an eyebrow at that, all grim skepticism. "Except, according to what you just said a minute ago, _Athena,_ you aren't Hermione Granger anymore. Which means that I don't know you, and I can't trust you. _If_ you stand by that, then this entire meeting has been pointless."

"I may not be Hermione Granger anymore, Auror Longbottom, but she and I share the same core values," Athena replied, and her violet eyes held his unflinchingly, stoic as ever. "I want to protect the innocent, I want blood prejudice to end, I want our country, our world, to be safe for the generations to come. I'm just more pragmatic than Hermione Granger was about how to go about achieving those ends, and I have a different way of helping the process. I assure you, we are on the same side here, and from what I know of you, that will be a constant. I vow that I will do all that I can to keep your Aurors safe and to not lead them into unnecessary danger. I will even swear to it magically if you require it."

Neville stared at the witch, his mind flitting back and forth between different emotions as he mulled over her words and her offer. After an indefinite amount of time, the Head Auror slowly began to nod, the tension in his posture deflating.

"All right," he acquiesced, "I believe you. As far as I can tell, you're being honest, and besides; Kingsley seems to trust you and he clearly knows more about all of this than I do. That doesn't mean that I _like_ any of it," Neville added with a frown, "but I think it's rather out of my hands in any case. And I reckon I'll be Obliviated if I make a fuss, won't I?"

Even as her lips curled upwards, Athena blinked in a very deliberate manner.

"Thought as much," Neville sighed under his breath. He nodded again, the motion more sure this time around. "Thank you for the trust and the honesty you've shown me...Athena," he told her wearily, "and for including me in the circle you've decided to let in on your secret. It goes a long way to convince me of your good intentions. I'll still take you up on the oath, though. I take the safety of my Aurors very seriously."

"Thank _you_ , Auror Longbottom," said Athena with a small, gracious smile. "And of course you do. Let's draft it now, shall we? That way there will be no conflict or confusion over the wording and such."

Neville agreed, and within five minutes, the phrasing of the oath was decided and Athena had sworn it readily.

After the sparks of the oath taking hold had dispersed, Neville rose from his seat to shake the witch's hand. "Thank you...Athena," he said to her, and her lips twitched at the touch of surprise that he couldn't keep from creeping into his voice. "I appreciate your doing this; I realize that magical oaths aren't a thing to be taken lightly."

"For good reason," replied Athena, a strange weight to her words. "But in this case, it was nothing, Auror Longbottom—especially if it can ease your mind in regards to my trustworthiness or even act as a starting point for us professionally."

Neville gave her a grin, but it didn't reach his eyes—they were much too sad to match it. "It's done both," he assured her, patting her hand before he relinquished her from his grasp. "I look forward to working with you," he announced. An "again" hovered unspoken at the end of the sentence, and Athena seemed to hear it loud and clear; any warmth in her eyes was extinguished, and cold, hard amethyst stared back at the Head Auror once more.

"And I, with you," she responded, her voice politely cool.

Neville seemed taken aback by the regression in attitude for a moment, but he quickly composed himself. "All right, then. If that's all, I'll take my leave. Minister," he fare-welled Kingsley, "Athena." Neville nodded at the pair of them before turning on his heel to leave the room, shutting the door quietly behind him.

* * *

Once Neville had departed, Kingsley slumped down onto one of the leather sofas in the room, letting out a great huff. "Well," he sighed, "at the very least, that went better than I expected. You handled it well given the circumstances."

Athena sat down elegantly at the opposite end of the couch, crossing her ankles and letting her head fall back against the soft leather behind it, her eyes closing. "Thank you, Kingsley," she responded, a slight, lax frown marring her lips. "I wish I hadn't had to lie to him about the accident, but I have to be sure that I can trust him before I even go near it. It was more of a lie of omission anyways, I suppose. After all, the Department still considers what happened confidential, even if I have some leeway there now."

Kingsley looked over at her and, sensing his gaze, Athena opened her eyes to meet it with her own. He considered her for a moment and then said in his smooth baritone, "You _can_ trust him, Thena. It's true that he's grown up since the Battle of Hogwarts, but at heart, he's still very much that brave, earnest young man, just doing what he can in a series of impossible situations. He's one of my best."

Without moving from her spot, Athena reached out a hand to the Minister, and when he took it, she stroked her thumb lightly over his knuckles. "I know, Kings," she murmured, "but just because he's brave and earnest and good doesn't mean I can trust him. He's not ready to understand yet, you saw it. He still sees me as Hermione, and he will for some time regardless of how much I tell him. But that's all right."

She beamed at him, and it was the first truly heartfelt smile to grace her lips since she'd Apparated into the office.

"After all, I do have you...my dear friend." She looked away for a second, and when she brought her eyes back to him, they were suddenly melancholy. "At least for a little while," she amended, unable to keep the wistfulness from her voice.

Kingsley tugged at her hand lightly and at her nod, he pulled her over so that she could nestle into his side. "You'll have me for as long as I live, Thena," he professed. "I know we can't continue as we have been for much longer given what's happening in America, but you can always count on me to help when things grow dire. I hope you know that."

Athena lifted her chin and pressed a soft kiss to the underside of her lover's jaw, her jewel-like eyes glittering up at him. "I do. And it means the world to me. You mean the world to me, Kings. I think I would have been completely clueless as to what to do after leaving the Department if it hadn't been for you. And a lot less human, too." She grimaced, shivering as she burrowed back into his side. "I'd completely lost perspective by the time Pravus was done with me. I'm so grateful to be free of that wretched man, and so grateful to you for showing me what was important again. And just for being so wonderful with me, really," she added, and he could hear the smile on her lips.

The Minister reached up with the hand whose fingers weren't intertwined with Athena's and began to delicately pull her hair from its harsh bun, a deep fondness exuding from him as he focused on the task. "You know, you still remind of her," he said to Athena in his low rumble, eyes on the irrepressible brown curls he was freeing. "Beyond the obvious, I mean."

"Is that so?" countered Athena in an attempt at playfulness that Kingsley saw right through.

"You haven't fully lost her, Thena," he told her quite solemnly, "and for that I'm glad."

"Thank you, Kingsley," she whispered, nuzzling her cheek into his chest. "I am too.

"Will you come see me tonight?"

"Of course I will."

* * *

 ** _From the ashes ..._ _she will rise ..._ _lost ... from scarlet flame ..._**

 _"Who are you?"_

 _"Hermione Granger."_

—SMACK!—

 ** _Magic protect the Goddess ..._**

 _"Who are you?"_

 _"Hermione ... Granger ..."_

—SMACK!—

 ** _Magic protect the Goddess ..._**

 _"WHO ARE YOU?!"_

 _"..."_

—SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!—

 ** _Magic protect the Goddess ..._**

* * *

Athena's eyes snapped open, her chest heaving as she sucked in a deep, shuddering gasp of air.

The man beside her groaned and mumbled something incoherent at the noise. In no time, she'd jostled him into consciousness.

"Thena?" he grumbled, his voice rasping with sleep. "What's wrong?"

"The mission, Kings—we have to move it up." Athena's irises glowed an eerie, unnatural violet in the dark of the room, and as soon as Kingsley saw it, he sat up, his eyes wide with apprehension.

"What?" he asked, startled out of his drowsiness, worry lines creasing his forehead. "What do you mean? To when, Thena?"

"Today," she replied in a distant monotone. "Today. Something is wrong, Kingsley. Something is _very_ wrong."


	3. 1: Entrances

**A/N: Hello everyone! Thank you to all those who have been leaving lovely comments and showing interest in the story so far! I very much appreciate your enthusiasm and your feedback.**

 **Here is the tally for the 'Hermione/Athena x ?' pairing poll so far, if anyone is curious:**

 **Bucky: 7**

 **Steve: 6**

 **Natasha: 5**

 **Bruce: 2**

 **Clint: 1**

 **Thor: 1**

 **Loki: 1**

 **I'm also keeping track of how many people are interested in a triad of some sort, so don't worry that it doesn't show that here - I haven't forgotten those votes.**

 **The poll is still open, so no worries. We won't be getting to romance for awhile, so if you'd still like a say/vote, there is plenty of time. Send them to me via review or PM, and while you're there, or even if you have already voted, please feel free to let me know your thoughts on the progression of the story.**

 **All right! On we go. It's here a bit later than I'd hoped but hey; it's here now. I'm not entirely satisfied with it, but that's probably just because I've been fussing over it for too long. XD**

* * *

 **Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or the Marvel Cinematic Universe. No copyright infringement is intended in the sharing of this story, and I make no money from it.**

 **For warnings about content, see the first half of the prologue.**

* * *

Later that same morning, notices were sent via Patronus to the foreign Ministers stating that, according to information from the British Unspeakables ( _close enough_ , Kingsley had mused), the international cooperative mission had to go forward effective immediately. A flurry of meetings and frantic planning ensued, but in the end, everything was set for the raid to proceed.

Thus, at 1500 hours CEST, on an unusually cool spring day in a wizarding village near Sundsvall, Sweden, just over a hundred men and women met in a valley nestled between two towering hillsides, whose neighbour held a decrepit-looking warehouse: the alleged meeting place of the Magi Puro and their allies.

For several minutes, translation spells were cast, introductions were made between members of the different contingents of Aurors, and all of the organizational matters were promptly seen to. Once everyone had settled in, Kingsley and a disguised Athena stepped forward to gather them all into one group, and then Kingsley made the first official address.

"Thank you for joining us today, Head Aurors Bergström, Thibodeau, Schmidt, and Claasen, and your respective forces. I'm Kingsley Shacklebolt, the British Minister for Magic, an ex-Auror myself. This is our Head Auror, Neville Longbottom." The Minister gestured to Neville, who gave a quick wave. "Auror Longbottom as well as the other Head Aurors present will be overseeing different stages of the infiltration of the warehouse you've all seen one valley over. Thanks to a tip-off from the Swedish Department of Magical Law Enforcement, we have learned that said warehouse may be the Headquarters of the burgeoning radical, blood-purist movement who call themselves the Magi Puro. They are suspected of the abduction of several prominent Swedish Muggle-borns and their families."

Kingsley paused, his expression growing fractionally more grim. "This morning," he revealed, "we received further intelligence from a source within the British Department of Mysteries who says that this mission has been in some way compromised. Said individual could not be more specific, as is often the case when the Sight is involved," Kingsley gave a weary shrug, "but their previous convictions of this kind have been uncannily reliable, and so we must approach today's activities with caution.

"Now then, allow me to introduce our Enhanced Auror, an agent of the British Department of Mysteries by the name of Athena. She will be overseeing the operation as a whole." A few whispers broke out at that announcement but they were quickly stifled as Kingsley's eyes snapped to those who had spoken out of turn, his gaze as piercing as a hawk's. When he was certain that everyone was focused on him once again, the Minister continued.

"Athena has a range of advanced magical, strategic, and combative abilities that will make her leadership of this mission invaluable. Please welcome her and treat her with the same respect you would afford any of the Head Aurors. Thank you. I wish you the best of luck today."

Kingsley then stepped back so that Athena could take his place, Disapparating away from the valley since he wasn't sanctioned to be a member of the raid. Athena stepped forward smoothly, clad in the same midnight violet jumpsuit in which she'd been introduced to Neville. She scanned the crowd in front of her, seeming to gauge them all before she finally spoke up.

"Thank you all for agreeing to be here," Athena began. "I appreciate that international coordinated efforts on this scale are rare, and so I applaud your willingness to contribute to this mission. I assure you, we will take every precaution to ensure your safety; and if there is indeed something unexpected afoot here, my first priority will be to bring you all out of there alive and as unscathed as possible. You have all been assigned checkpoints on the hilltop in front of us. If an evacuation order is given, you will return to said checkpoints immediately." She looked them all over sternly, nodding once when she saw from the Aurors' sober expressions that she was indeed being understood.

"Now, before I go any further," she continued, "I would like to know exactly what we are dealing with here. Wouldn't you agree?" There was a hum of consensus, albeit confused consensus. Athena smiled knowingly and then clarified for her audience, "I will reveal the wards around the warehouse for us, in such a way that those inside will not be alerted to our presence. If everyone could make their way to the top of the hill, please? Don't worry—I've already warded the perimeter of the warehouse's property. So long as no one strays past the yellow markers, we will remain concealed. I'll lead the way, and then let's have the French Aurors follow, and then the Germans, Dutch, Swedish, and British in that order.

"Disapparate on ten second intervals after my mark, please. Three, two, one—mark."

With the customary _CRACK!,_ Athena Disapparated, and a few seconds later, a second distant crack echoed down into the valley from the top of the hill; those down below could easily make out their leader's silhouette. Head Auror Thibodeau called his Aurors to attention, and soon enough, in a series of thundering _CRACK!_ s _,_ the valley was deserted in favour of the hilltop.

There, once Athena had assured herself that there were no stragglers, she turned away from the group for a moment in order to face the warehouse. Executing a series of complex wand movements, she chanted, " _Specialis Revelio ... Incantatem, Discreteque Colore Visibilis ... Specialis Revelio ..."_

As she continued incanting, the air around the warehouse started to shimmer and gradually, a translucent dome came into relief. As it became more visible, the Aurors began to murmur amongst themselves, awed and disbelieving; the dome seemed to be made of several layers, each one tinted a different colour and some of them boasting strange, fluctuating patterns of light.

None of the Aurors had seen anything like what Athena was doing. It was one thing to detect and disarm a ward, but to identify and separate its different components in such a way, with but a simple modified enchantment—who was this woman?

As they watched, Athena tapped her wand against her chin thoughtfully, her eyes fixed on the dome and her lips pursed as she considered how to go about lifting the various charms and curses that were layered into the warehouse's protections. At last, she spoke up.

"Rest assured; those inside the warehouse cannot see what you are seeing. Those spells are perception- and intention-based. In essence, I want you to see the wards, so you do. That is not the case with the warehouse's inhabitants. Just a little something I devised in training." Athena waved a hand vaguely.

"All right. First things first. Who here has considerable experience in reversing anti-Disapparition charms and the like?" Five hands were raised. "Good. The five of you, come forward, please. The rest, please see your team leaders in the meantime to review the raiding plans."

The Aurors hurried to do as she instructed, and soon Athena found herself surrounded by five expectant faces. She gave them all a subdued smile, but her eyes were measuring them intensely, and each one felt themselves standing a little straighter under her scrutiny.

"Thank you for volunteering yourselves," Athena greeted them. "As you can now see, the outer layer of the wards—which comprises several interlinked anti-Disapparition and Caterwauling charms—is the greatest piece of the warehouses's warding scheme and is likely intended to prevent unwelcome intruders—such as ourselves—from being able to escape without alerting its occupants.

"Now; I am familiar with the kind of modifications that the Magi Puro have made to the other layers of enchantments; they are not overtly powerful, but they will be especially finicky to remove." She smiled slightly. "Dealing with finicky spells is my specialty. Thus, I will be the one to do so. I need the rest of you to tackle the outer layer in the meantime so that we maximize efficiency. Are you all comfortable with that?" A chorus of quiet affirmatives met the question and Athena nodded, gratitude softening her stare. "Excellent," she stated. "I trust you to organize yourselves as you see fit. Pay me no attention, just focus on your task, am I understood?" More affirmatives. "Okay. Let's get to it, shall we?"

Athena informed the other Head Aurors of their plan and then she and the five who'd stepped forward Apparated to different points outside the boundaries of the warehouse's wards to begin spellcasting.

Those who had already gone over their duties and had nothing to do but wait couldn't help but watch as Athena set to work. The other Aurors were almost surgical in the way they positioned themselves in a pentagon around the warehouse and began to methodically tackle their assigned layer one enchantment at a time; but Athena? Athena was like a dancer, an artist in the way she went about her work. Her wand twirled and spun and wove shapes into the air, and with it, different parts of the wards below the first layer glowed and sparked and glimmered before fading into faint wisps of colour and then disappearing altogether.

It was as though she was simultaneously creating and destroying a miniature of the Aurora Borealis.

Slowly but surely, layer-by-layer, the spells around the warehouse were lifted and countered and within fifteen minutes, its entire warding scheme was dismantled.

Athena then Apparated around to each of those who'd helped her and asked them rejoin the others for one last bit of reconnaissance before the raid.

When they'd returned to the hilltop and the force of Aurors gathered there, Athena once again addressed them all.

"Now that the wards are down, only one major thing remains before we move forward," Athena declared. "I've devised a modified version of the Human-presence-revealing spell that actually specifies the _number_ of humans present, and that can do so from a long distance away so long as the focus is clear in the caster's mind. I will perform it now, and we will see how many of the Magi Puro are on the premises." Excited whispers once again broke out, and Athena smiled as she saw academic curiosity alight in more than one set of eyes in the crowd.

" _Homenum numerus revelio_ ," she intoned, waving her wand in a grand, sweeping motion. A spark flared in the air before her and, as the Aurors watched, it stretched itself out, lengthening and thinning and bending and splitting until a fiery number 20 hovered there.

Athena made as if to speak, but instead, her mouth snapped shut and her eyebrows rose in incredulity as the figure in front of her unexpectedly began to change.

The two of the twenty began to wither, its light slowly dissipating until finally, only a luminescent 0 remained. Then, with increasing speed, the two reformed itself and then disappeared once more, and the figures went 0 — 20 — 0 — 20 — 0 — 20 — 0 —

When the numbers continued to flash back and forth without pause, Athena flicked her wand sharply and they disintegrated into particles of light, which were carried away by a frigid gust of wind.

She stared at the spot where they'd vanished for a moment before her gaze slid up to consider the Aurors gathered 'round.

"That has never happened before," she told them quietly, "but I can guess as to the cause of the malfunction. It looks like we will not be fighting the Magi Puro today. I think our task," she grimaced, "will be retrieval."

Auror Bergström immediately began to curse under his breath in his native language; Neville's brow furrowed for a moment before understanding struck and all the colour drained from his cheeks. A handful of others had similar reactions, but the majority of the Aurors just looked confused or apprehensive at their leaders' dismay.

"Retrieval?" asked a bold German youth, blond locks quivering in the cool breeze, his accent strong.

"Body retrieval," his superior barked at him, and when the others looked to Athena for confirmation, she nodded once, her expression grave.

"My guess would be the missing Muggle-borns and their families," the E.A. explained bitterly. "The original intelligence was bad—your Ministry's informant was either Imperiused or a plant, Auror Bergström." The man gave her a curt nod, his expression utterly grim. Athena continued to speak. "This is a setup. Likely a publicity stunt for the Magi Puro. They are making their first official move today." She shook her head, disgust etched into every crease of her face.

"And of course, now we, the combined forces of five Ministries, are here to bear witness."

* * *

Despite the change of circumstances, the infiltration of the warehouse proceeded as planned at Athena's order, just in case there was "an unwelcome surprise waiting inside," as the Enhanced Auror put it. Still, as expected, when the five teams broke into the warehouse at their assigned points of entry and cleared the four levels, they confirmed that the building was in fact abandoned.

They also discovered a long row of dead bodies laid out in the foyer.

Man, woman, or child, the victims were nude and beaten bloody, only their faces left untouched.

"So that we could identify them," Auror Bergström growled to Neville, Auror Claasen, and Athena, whose fists were clenched, the knuckles of the hand holding her wand turned whitish-gray from the strain of her grip. The four of them were standing closest to the bodies, unable to tear their eyes away from wretched sight whereas many others could barely stand to look at it.

On the wall above the bodies, the words "Let Purity Reign and Filth Rot" were carved into the brick in a wicked script that Neville and Athena remembered all too well.

This was without a doubt the work of Rodolphus Lestrange and his ilk.

"The sick fucking bastards," Neville swore. Claasen and Bergström nodded, the latter going so far as to spit on the ground in rage. For a short while, they just stared, aghast.

It was the Dutch Auror who broke the silence. "Let's cover them," Claasen suggested, her voice deadened and her eyes blank; she was Occluding, Athena noted, even as the four of them began to conjure black shrouds for the dead. When they'd finished, Claasen turned to Athena. "How do you think we should move them?"

Athena nodded, thankful for the other woman's pragmatism. "Levitation. We can ask for volunteers to carry them out and to Apparate them to the morgue at Nilsson's Wizarding Hospital in Stockholm. Would that be acceptable to you, Auror Bergström?"

"Yes, it would. _Tack_ , Athena," the Auror replied gruffly. _Thank you._

She inclined her head at him briefly and then faced the bodies once more, waving her wand in the tried-and-true "swish and flick", determined to get on with it.

As soon as the first body left the ground, there was a distinct _click_ , and Athena heard a quiet beeping noise coming from the spot on the floor where the corpse had been laid. She froze.

"Auror Longbottom, take him from me, please," she ordered, her tone brooking no argument. Neville did as instructed, confused but serious when he heard the trepidation in her voice.

Athena carefully but quickly walked towards the source of the noise, waving her wand at the stone floor so that two blocks shimmied out and flew over to the wall to be set down. Athena got on her hands and knees, wandlessly warding her person as she leaned over the hole in the floor to see what was causing that incessant beeping. Her eyes widened.

It was a bomb.

A _Muggle_ bomb.

A Muggle bomb with a timer ticking down from twenty.

"What is it?" called Claasen, just as Athena shot a stasis charm at the digital clock. Instead of having the desired effect, though, Athena's magic rebounded and she let out a yelp as her wrist was yanked forward and magically fixed to one side of the bomb. As a second, foreign wave of protective magic washed over her and the timer showed ten seconds left, Athena's eyes widened in understanding.

There was only one thing to do.

"LEAVE THE BODIES. DISAPPARATE TO YOUR CHECKPOINTS— **NOW!** "

Athena's voice rang out loudly and clearly through the entire warehouse, and all who heard it felt the instant and unshakable urge to obey her.

And so, simultaneously, every single Auror in the building Disapparated as ordered.

A few seconds later, from the hilltop, a hundred or so men and women watched as the warehouse below them exploded, erupting into flames with Athena still inside.

* * *

 _ **Shortly after 1500 hours CEST; Great Britain; Ministry of Magic Headquarters**_

After Disapparating from near Sundsvall to a Portkey site outside of Oslo, Norway and then using said Portkey to travel back to the UK, Minister Shacklebolt finally returned to his office, wishing all the while to be an Auror once again instead of Minister for Magic so that he could be by Athena's side during the mission. Rationally, Kingsley knew very well that she could handle herself, but he couldn't help but worry nonetheless.

Still, he didn't have the luxury of time to stew in his anxiousness for long; the Minister had to brace himself for the next event of the day, a certain meeting which he had avoided for a long time but simply couldn't afford to put off any longer.

The Minister for Magic summoned three tumblers from the mahogany cabinet in the corner of his office, snagging a bottle of aged Ogden's Finest as well after a quick pause of deliberation. He set them down on the coffee table in the middle of the seating area by the fireplace and settled into his favourite armchair to wait, flipping through the folder he'd brought over with him to both pass the time and mentally prepare himself for the coming confrontation.

He didn't have to wait long. Two timid knocks sounded on his office door, and at his booming "Enter," it opened just wide enough for Seraphina to stick her head into the room.

"Minister," she addressed Kingsley, her eyes flicking nervously between him and whomever stood outside his office, "your guests have arrived. I told them that you just got back from Sweden and needed a few minutes to settle in, but they're insisting on seeing you right away."

"That's all right, Miss Fawley," Kingsley assuaged her, his mouth twitching in amusement. "Please, show them in."

Seraphina withdrew her head and the door opened more widely. Two intriguing individuals stepped through into the office before the door was shut behind them.

The man leading the way was wearing an eyepatch around his bald, dark-skinned head and a thick, leather trench coat that Kingsley was sure had to be uncomfortably warm for the spring weather. The woman following closely behind him had hair that could've belonged to a Weasley for how shockingly red it was against her pale skin; she wore a jumpsuit remarkably similar to Athena's, but with an eagle crest sewn into the upper arm and a utility belt around her waist where several weapons were holstered. Both the man and the woman were dressed head-to-toe in black.

"Minister Shacklebolt!" the man exclaimed, reaching an arm out to Kingsley with a confident smirk. "It's good to see you again. Maybe we'll actually come to an agreement on things this time around; what do you think?"

"Director Fury," Kingsley greeted him calmly, accepting the handshake. "Agent Romanoff," he greeted the redhead, who nodded at him impassively; they also shook hands. "Please; take a seat. We have a lot to discuss."


	4. 2: The Ministry of Magic

**A/N: Hello again, all! Here is the tally for the shipping poll:**

 **Those for Hermione/Athena with:**

 **Bucky: 17**

 **Steve: 15**

 **Natasha: 12**

 **Thor: 4**

 **Bruce: 3**

 **Loki: 2**

 **Clint: 2**

 **Given the overall feedback, I'm leaning** **towards a Bucky/Athena(Hermione)/Steve triad, but I'm going to allow everybody one more chapter to express their thoughts on that and to get last-minute votes in, because who knows? Also, because of the interest in Hermione/Natasha, I may write a short story centered on that pairing, too, so please let me know if you would be interested in reading that. I may even write some flirtation between them in this story. We'll see XD**

 **All right, lovelies: here we go! It's been awhile, so I'm rewarding your patience with the largest chapter so far. I hope you enjoy it!**

* * *

 **Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or the Marvel Cinematic Universe. No copyright infringement is intended in the sharing of this story, and I make no money from it.**

 **For warnings about content, see the first half of the prologue.**

* * *

Nicholas Fury had seen a lot in his time; that was the reality of being a super-spy.

Not much could surprise him anymore. But the Ministry of Magic?

It was one for the books.

Its entrance was through a goddamned telephone booth in London, for starters, like something out of one of the kookier James Bond movies. And the Atrium, as their guide, Miss Perks, had called it—it had this row of fireplaces lit with green flames, where people dressed in robes and capes of all colours popped up and walked out, completely unaffected, fiddling with dockets and briefcases and newspapers whose photographs Nick could have sworn he saw move. And on top of all of that, a steady stream of purple paper airplanes flew back and forth over people's heads, under archways and into elevators, presumably to be delivered to different departments; and no one else batted an eye at them except to scowl if one dipped a little too low or too close.

Nick didn't know what the hell he'd been expecting, but this wasn't it. This was better _._ Insane, sure—but better.

 _And real damn scary for international security,_ he reminded himself. _A whole population of people we didn't know about, who have an unknown range of supernatural powers that they've been using right under our noses for centuries. Fan-_ _tastic. I'm_ _in for it_ _if the Security Council finds out about this. T_ _hough,_ Fury mused, _who knows? Maybe they're already in on the secret. Hell, maybe one of them is magical! Goddamnit, I have my work cut out for me._

Nick was pulled from his musings when Miss Perks showed him and Natasha into one of the old-fashioned-looking elevators at the far end of the Atrium. With a cheery warning of "I would hold on if I were you," Miss Perks shut the accordion-gate door and the elevator gave a great lurch as it took off— _backwards_.

Nick and Natasha shot each another wide-eyed glances as the cab of the elevator jerked around every which way before finally plummeting into the earth. It hurtled downwards for some time, and then, without warning, it came to a stop so abrupt that had its occupants not been clutching onto the straps overhead, they would have easily been thrown to the floor.

"Sorry about that," Miss Perks said, giving her guests a sheepish grin as she fussed with her hair for a moment. "We're having someone come in to look at the lifts sometime in the next few days; they're not usually _quite_ that bad. Now," she exclaimed, clapping her hands excitedly before pulling the door of the elevator open, "I'll escort you to the Minister's reception area. Follow me, please."

Miss Perks took off, heels clacking underneath her orange robes as she tottered hurriedly down the hallway. Nick turned his head towards Natasha, raising an eyebrow. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the small smirk that had curled her lips and felt one of his own threatening to surface. With a nod to her, he stepped out of the elevator and she followed closely behind, a second shadow in his footsteps.

The sight that greeted them was, in a word, impressive. The floor beneath their feet was gleaming, cobalt-blue marble, the walls on either side of them the white variant of the same stone, and the ceiling curved into graceful arches high above their heads. Lifelike portraits hung elegant, silver frames lined the walls. From what Nick could make out of the plaques underneath them, they seemed to depict the previous Ministers for Magic, many of whom had been dead a long time.

One of said Ministers, a wizened crone with a prominent scowl whose plaque read "Josephina Flint," peered with beady eyes at the approaching three. After her sharp gaze flitted over Nick and Natasha, she shrieked with a voice hoarse from neglect, "Muggles?! Muggles to see the Minister for Magic?!" She pulled a stick— _a wand,_ Nick corrected himself—from her robes and pointed it at them menacingly as the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents and their guide slowed to a halt in front of her portrait. The witch continued to scream her consternation. "What has become of this _wretched_ institution?! In my day, Muggles would _never_..."

To Nick's amusement and fascination, the two Ministers from the neighbouring portraits turned and vanished from their own frames only to appear in Flint's. The man from the left side grabbed her arm and forced her wand down, grappling with the old woman before tearing the stick away from her; and the woman from the right side clapped a hand over the harridan's mouth, muffling her vitriolic screams.

"My sincerest apologies for Josie, here," the man called to them loudly over Flint's moans. "She's a nasty, old bigot. Blood purity and all that rot. Please, carry on!"

Miss Perks had turned a bright scarlet that clashed horrendously with her orange robes and began to stammer a slew of apologies before Nick cut her off.

"Don't worry, Miss Perks," he assured her, inwardly sighing, "I've faced a lot worse than an angry, talking painting."

The guide let out a shrill burst of laughter, eager to diffuse the situation but still terrified that the guests she'd been assigned to might have been offended. "Of course, Director Fury," she simpered. "I imagine that must be true for a man of your position."

When the only response Nick gave to the guide's weak attempt at flattery was a raised eyebrow, the woman's blush darkened to a red-violet hue. From behind him, Natasha cleared her throat; Miss Perks gave a jerky start at the noise, having all but forgotten the redhead's presence.

"Right," the woman squeaked. "Well...this way, please."

She turned tail, scurrying down the hallway. Nick shook his head in amused disgust, but promptly followed behind her nonetheless.

Two rights, a left, and—thankfully—zero screaming portraits later, Nick, Natasha, and Miss Perks found themselves in the Minister's reception area: a great, white marble dome with a circular desk at its center and small clusters of chairs and sofas at its edge. A pretty brunette was seated at the reception desk and focused intensely on the sheet of parchment in her hands, a small, absent-minded frown dimming her features. A small plaque on her desk read in golden lettering, "Miss S. Fawley, Junior Assistant to the Minister for Magic."

"I'll leave you here," murmured the thoroughly humiliated Miss Perks before she turned on her heel to speed-walk back the way they came as quickly as her robes and shoes would allow.

Nick turned to glance at Natasha again. She pursed her lips and shrugged. He rolled his eye at her and then, with a small jerk of his head as a signal, he looked away from her and approached the reception desk, Natasha right behind him.

"Miss Fawley?" he asked. The young woman looked up from her parchment and, upon seeing who was addressing her, gave a welcoming smile.

"That's me," she confirmed cheerfully. "And, if I'm not mistaken, you are Director Fury and Agent Romanoff from S.H.I.E.L.D.; is that so?"

"It is," Nick replied, nodding. "We have an appointment with Minister Shacklebolt."

"Of course," agreed Miss Fawley. "The Minister has just returned from Sweden and is still settling in, so if you wouldn't mind waiting here for a few minutes, I could—"

"I'm sorry, Miss Fawley, but I _do_ mind," Nick told her, politely but firmly. "If he's here, then I need to speak with him right away. I'm a busy man, and there are time-sensitive issues at S.H.I.E.L.D. that are being put on hold for this meeting. Take us to him— _now_."

"Sir," Seraphina went to protest, but she relented when she saw the Director's expression harden and Agent Romanoff lifting an eyebrow at her as if daring the Junior Assistant to push the subject.

These were not people who took "no" for an answer.

Seraphina sighed. _This job,_ she thought to herself tiredly. _I'm not paid nearly enough for the shite I have to put up with._

"All right, Director Fury," she said, her tone reproachful but somehow still kind. "I'll show you to his office." She pushed back from the desk, stood from her chair, and stepped out from behind the desk. "Follow me, please."

Miss Fawley led them through a space between two clusters of seats, on the curve of wall opposite the entrance hallway. There was no obvious door in sight, but regardless, the brunette knocked twice on the marble ( _as though it were wood_ , Nick thought), and a muffled call of "Enter," sounded from the other side of the wall. At the shout, the assistant pushed at the stone and it gave way, revealing the doorway to the Minister's office.

Miss Fawley stuck her head into the room, glancing back at Nick and Natasha several times as she told its occupant, "Minister, your guests have arrived. I told them that you just got back from Sweden and needed a few minutes to settle in, but they're insisting on seeing you right away."

A deep, pleasant baritone responded with a hint of mirth, "That's all right, Miss Fawley. Please, show them in."

The assistant gave Nick and Natasha a quick, subdued smile and opened the door wide for them to pass through. Although she was behind him and thus, he couldn't see her, Nick could still feel Natasha's gaze sweeping over the office, assessing their surroundings and scanning for potential threats. He felt a rush of gratitude for the agent's competence, because it meant that he was free to examine the man approaching them.

The Minister for Magic did not disappoint. He hadn't when he'd come to S.H.I.E.L.D. for their first meeting, either; but now he was on his own turf, and he looked all the more powerful for it. Adding to the already formidable presence he exuded thanks to his impressive height, sizable build, steady-and-sure demeanour, and sonorous voice, the Minister was resplendent in a set of royal blue robes dotted with golden stars and suns, all over a crisp, navy bespoke suit with a tie that matched the blue of his robes and a golden pocket watch, complete with chain and all, peeking out over the slit of his vest.

Kingsley Shacklebolt looked worthy of his position, worthy to be the leader of a race of people who wielded magic—but that wasn't to say that the Director was about to let him know that.

"Minister Shacklebolt!" Nick greeted him, reaching out a hand for the Minister to shake."It's good to see you again! Maybe we'll actually come to an agreement on things this time around; what do you think?"

Shacklebolt took Nick's hand and gave it a firm shake. "Director Fury," he replied in that distinct baritone, all understated confidence. He stepped to the side and took his hand from Nick's to offer it to Natasha. "Agent Romanoff." The infamous Black Widow gave him a simple nod in return, wary of the man despite the fact that Nick knew he had her grudging respect. "Please; take a seat," the Minister suggested. "We have a lot to discuss."

"That we do," agreed Nick, choosing to sit in the middle of one of the longer leather couches in the room, right across from the Minister's armchair. Natasha sat beside Nick but gave the two men a wide berth, perching her elbow on an armrest and kicking her feet up onto an ottoman in a deceptively relaxed-looking pose. She settled herself in to watch the verbal tennis match that was about to take place.

"So," Nick began, "I take it that you haven't decided to—what was it, again? The memory wipe thing?"

"Obliviate," offered Shacklebolt.

" _Obliviate._ " Nick mulled the word over for a moment before accepting it. "Right. Well, I take it you haven't decided to _Obliviate_ us as you threatened at our last meeting, considering the fact that we're here having this conversation and that your man is still in one of our retention cells."

Shacklebolt didn't flinch at the accusation; he just nodded. "And you would be right," he replied. "I'll be honest with you: I haven't entirely ruled it out. But at this point, that course of action has been relegated to a last resort."

"How comforting," Natasha remarked, eyebrows raised and mouth twisting with the sarcasm in her tone. To say that Natasha wasn't fond of the idea of someone rooting around in her mind was a ridiculous understatement.

"Would you rather I lie to you, Agent Romanoff?" rumbled the Minister gravely. "I have a duty to protect my people, and it entails, among other things, protecting the knowledge of our existence from those without magic.

"Much of the paranoia and the dislike that the magical community feels towards non-magicals comes from the fear of what would happen if we were discovered. In the days of the witch trials and burnings at the stake, non-magicals weren't really a threat to us. In fact, it was mainly non-magicals who were killed on charges of witchcraft. Our own people had ways of keeping hidden, keeping safe, and even escaping capture if caught. But now," the Minister said, turning his gaze from Natasha to Nick, "the technology that you possess poses a very real threat to us. If we were discovered and our existence was received in a negative light..." he trailed off, suddenly looking very tired.

Nick knew that look. He'd seen it on his own face a countless number of times. That was the look of someone who contemplated what seemed like inevitable catastrophe on a near-daily basis.

"...it would have devastating consequences for the entire world," the Minister stated baldly. Nick opened his mouth to comment on that, but the Minister held up a hand with a soft, quelling look. "I am going somewhere with this; please let me finish."

Intrigued, Nick motioned for him to continue.

"That's why we have the International Statute of Secrecy in place," Shacklebolt explained, "and that is why it was so distressing to me that our agent compromised himself. Had you not been as willing to cooperate as you have been, the situation could have quickly devolved into a gigantic, chaotic mess and there may have even been blood spilled. I thank you for that, for your patience and your willingness to listen. That consideration is largely what is encouraging me to keep you in the loop and not have your memories of magic erased.

"I do have another motive, though, and it's related to the Statute." The Minister sighed and sank back into his chair slightly. "I personally think that it's only a matter of time before we're found out, I really do. Your technology is going to advance to the point where you'll pick something up someday, and it will all go downhill from there. Someone will be lazy or careless or stupid, and we'll be exposed for the world to see. And I think the only possible way for it to go over well is for there to be a some kind of public precedent, an icon of the good that we can do with our powers."

Shacklebolt straightened his shoulders and leaned forward slightly in his chair, his eyes boring into Nick's with palpable sobriety.

"I want to do this the right way. I've no desire to violate your minds by erasing your memories against your will...and I think we have a real opportunity here. So," the Minister declared, "I have a bargain to propose.

"In exchange for the immediate and voluntary return of Auror Wilkins to the British Ministry of Magic, whereupon he will be disciplined for putting your agents in danger, incidentally," he grimaced, "and also in exchange for your discretion on the subject of the international magical community for the indefinite future, which will be enforced by magical oath...I will offer up our best Auror to join your so-called 'Avengers Initiative.'"

For the briefest of moments, Nick froze. In his peripheral vision, he saw Natasha glance at him, shock and worry in her eyes despite the neutrality of the rest of her expression. Silently berating himself, he slowly sat back into the plush leather at his back, resting his arm across the top of the sofa. "So, Wilkins found the files, did he?" asked the Director, his voice hard.

Shacklebolt smiled at him, unaffected by the Director's change in tone. "No," he told Fury lowly. "Wilkins wasn't good enough with your technology for that. But our best Auror is."

"The same person you want to join the Initiative?" Nick clarified coolly.

"The very same," the Minister confirmed. "She's been in and out of many of your facilities several times without _once_ being detected. She could probably help you with your security, actually," Shacklebolt commented with a slight, sly grin.

Nick felt an unwanted hint of amusement at the remark, appreciative of the man's nerve. He looked over Natasha and saw the faintest trace of a smirk lingering around her mouth. She nodded at him, and he could virtually hear her voice in his head.

 _Let's go with it. There's really no other choice; these people can do what they want to us if they want to, and anyway, this could be good for us. It can't hurt to hear him out._

"All right, Minister," Nick drawled, "I'll bite. Who is this woman and, assuming that I'm willing to entertain the idea of her joining the Avengers, how can I know for sure that she's trustworthy?"

Kingsley Shacklebolt gave the Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. a grim smile. He picked up one of the folders on the table beside his armchair and extended an arm to offer it to Nick, who took it silently. Natasha stood from her spot and moved closer to Nick, sitting back down at his side as he opened the folder and began to read its contents.

Nick felt his eyes grow progressively wider as he scanned the documents Shacklebolt had given him. He and Natasha shared a long, loaded glance before Natasha broke eye contact to look at the Minister instead.

"You're saying that she did all of this?" the Black Widow demanded. "As an _untrained teenager_?"

"Yes," replied the Minister, deathly serious. "There have been books written about her and the two boys who keep cropping up, Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley. They were heroes, adored by our community—revered, even. But that's just the first file." He gestured to the heap of reports on the table that he had yet to touch. "This? This is where it gets complicated."

Director and Agent exchanged another look.

 _Damnit_ , thought Nick. _We're going to be here awhile._

* * *

Neville stared at the smouldering ruins of the warehouse in the valley below, his eyes round with horror. The Aurors around him stood stunned, all realizing that the leader they now owed their lives to had been left behind, and each one feeling the knowledge of that reality plummet like a boulder into the depths of their stomach.

Auror Claasen had her palms pressed to her mouth and was white as a sheet, unable to take her eyes off the wreckage. Auror Bergström rested a hand on her shoulder, his mouth a stark line and his eyes glinting wetly in the pale light.

No one seemed to know what to do.

Abruptly, Neville stepped forward. "I'm going back down there," he said loudly. "I'll go by myself if I have to, but I'll ask regardless: is anyone willing to go with me?"

Claasen nodded, the motion slow and thoughtful. "I will," the Dutch Auror told him dazedly. "Athena is brilliant—we shouldn't count her out just yet." Claasen paused. "In any case, whatever her fate, we owe this to her." She shook her head as if to clear her thoughts and then moved to stand beside Neville.

Bergström followed right behind. All he said was a simple, "I'm in."

After a few minutes of heated debate, it was decided that all five Head Aurors would return to the site and search for Athena. It was a serious breach of protocol, but none of them could find it within themselves to give a damn about the rules at that moment, and they weren't about to risk the people for whom they were responsible, not when those same people had just narrowly escaped death's clutches.

"We'll Apparate just outside the boundary," said Neville, who had assumed the leadership role of the group, "and go in on foot." There was a chorus of agreement.

"All right." Neville took a deep breath. "Let's do this."

* * *

Not a minute later, Neville, Bergström, Claasen, Schmidt, and Thibodeau were approaching what little remained of the warehouse, their noses and mouths protected from the fumes by Bubble-head Charms.

As they walked up to the mercifully still-standing entrance-way, the Aurors shot Stabilizing charms at the structure's wooden supports, some quivering with strain from the weight of the debris overhead, others burnt by the flames of the explosion. Once it was relatively safe for them to proceed, Neville led the way up the front steps and towards the door before stopping short at the sight before him, his heart dropping in his chest.

The roof of the foyer had already collapsed - right over where the bodies had been laid.

 _Right over where Her_ —

He shook his head, correcting the mental slip.

— _where_ Athena _had been trapped._

Neville was jostled out of the way as Thibodeau and Schmidt stepped past him, pointing their wands at the fallen debris and levitating it out of the way piece by piece. The others quickly came to their aid, and the five of them worked with painstaking care to keep what little remained of the foyer's structure intact and to move the debris away from the site of the explosion's origin.

All of the sudden, as they got down towards the bottom of the pile of singed shingle and wooden beams and rubble, Neville's eyes were drawn to a flicker of blue peeking out between two of the largest remaining pieces. He snapped his fingers twice and sharply to gain the others' attention and then pointed to the speck of light. Upon seeing what he was seeing, they resumed their efforts with renewed vigour, and Neville joined them anxiously, hope rising in his chest with such force that he almost choked on his own breath, Bubble-head charm be damned.

Then, one of the beams shifted, and there she was.

Athena was sprawled amid the wreckage, her entire body coated with pulsing, electric blue light. Even from where he stood, Neville could make out the gentle rise and fall of her chest, and he felt a staggering rush of relief course through him.

 _She was alive._

—Creeeaaak!—

Neville whirled around, wand at the ready, but Schmidt was one step ahead of him. The beam that had been falling towards the back of their heads instead hung frozen in mid-air at the end of the German Auror's wand. He and his British counterpart exchanged a weary glance.

Just then, someone touched Neville's shoulder; he turned to see Thibodeau point to himself and Schmidt, and then at the structure around them. His message was clear: the place was still unstable—they needed to keep it from collapsing. Neville nodded, pointing at a couple of weak spots he'd noticed. Thibodeau's gaze followed Neville's guidance and then the Frenchman returned the nod and left Neville's side to go to Schmidt.

In the time that Neville was occupied, Claasen and Bergström had freed Athena's body from the fallen debris. Neville went to approach her but stopped in his tracks when Claasen threw her hand up in warning. The Dutch Auror walked carefully towards Athena, but was forced to slow when her body encountered an invisible resistance. When she tried to fight through it, the force pushed her back, almost unbalancing her.

Her brow furrowed in concentration, Claasen got down on her knees and wove her wand through the air in an intricate movement in front of the barrier. The space between the barrier and Athena pulsed brightly with that eerie, blue light and the Auror nodded to herself. She cancelled the spell with a flick of her wand and then began to draw precise, red letters in the air.

 _Multi-layered repelling charm,_ Claasen wrote. _2 strong counter-charms + a Finite Incantatem should do it._ She held up two fingers and pointed at herself and Bergström, and then held up one and gestured to Neville. The two men nodded their understanding.

 _After three,_ Claasen wrote to them. She held up one finger...two fingers...three fingers...

The Aurors cast their spells and three jets of light permeated the barrier, their magic eating away at it until nothing was left to inhibit the Aurors' path to Athena. As soon as the barrier was disintegrated, Neville swept forward and dropped down to his knees beside Athena. After quickly reassessing her vitals, he placed a quick Feather-Light charm on the unconscious woman and hauled her up into his arms, utterly unconcerned with the layer of magic that was still in flux over her body since it didn't seem to be rejecting his presence.

He turned back to Claasen and Bergström, his eyes pleading. They both nodded and Claasen even mouthed the word "GO" at him. When Neville hesitated, she quickly wrote something in the air and then flicked her wand to flip the writing around for him to see.

 _We'll be fine. We will take care of your people and ours and let them know what happened._ _Go get her help. NOW._

Neville felt an enormous wave of gratitude sweep over him and smiled at Claasen and Bergström as best he could. The Swedish Auror returned with gesture with another nod, his eyes still watery despite his stoic expression. Claasen, on the other hand, gave Neville a small wave and again mouthed "Go!" at her fellow Head Auror, this time with more urgency.

Satisfied that they would be all right, Neville shifted Athena in his arms so that he could reach a hand up to the medallion around his neck. As he touched its gold surface, he cancelled the Bubble-head charm impeding his speech and whispered, "Emergency protocol."

There was a blinding flash of light, and once it had dissipated he and the unconscious Athena were gone.

* * *

 **A/N: Please leave me a review or send a PM if you can spare a moment, my dear readers.**

 **You'll be hearing from me again soon! Stay tuned.**


	5. 3: The Avengers Initiative

**A/N: Hello everyone! I'm back with your next chapter after a much longer period of time than I'd intended.**

 **From hereon out, I'll make no promises when it comes to my update schedule. My life has become rather busy rather quickly—but I've elaborated on that in my profile if you're interested. Suffice it to say that I will do my best to update as often as I can, but my output of chapters will likely be sporadic. Also, if I could ask one thing: please don't leave reviews if all you're going to say in them is that a) you want me to update faster or b) it sucks that I don't update often. I understand that, but unfortunately, I'm not able to change the frequency of my updates right now, so it's rather futile to ask me to do so.**

 **Now, in terms of the poll, I have narrowed down potential partners to Steve, Bucky, and Natasha. Before anyone protests, let me explain.**

 **I can't necessarily trust the number of votes because I have a strong suspicion that some anons have voted multiple times. As such, I've resolved to keep these three** — **the three most popular choices** — **as potential love interests, and to see where the story leads me. In any case, Hermione/Athena will have a close relationship with each of them; it will just be a matter of which of those relationships become romantic and/or sexual, and of which remain that way in the long term. I'm sorry to disappoint anyone who wanted to know a definite result, but this is what I've decided. It's the best compromise between taking your voices into account and doing what I feel is best for the story.**

 **Anyways! I apologize for all of the housekeeping remarks, but I felt I ought to provide you all with some context.**

 **Here we go! I hope you enjoy the chapter. Oh, and be forewarned: brief vulgar language ahead. (I may have to change this fic to an M rating to play it safe, but we'll get to that if and when the time comes.)**

* * *

Half an hour into their meeting with the Minister for Magic, Nick and Natasha were still wading through the virtual sea of parchment that Shacklebolt had compiled on the woman now known as Athena. A good deal of it was made up of transcripts of Athena detailing her training with and subsequent missions for a branch of the Ministry of Magic called the Department of Mysteries.

It was equally fascinating and appalling, what had been done to this woman. Athena's handler, a man named Dunstan Pravus, had performed an elaborate series of experiments on her (or rather, on her former self, Hermione Granger), all with the goal of turning her into "the Goddess"—whatever _that_ meant, though it was presumably the explanation for her new alias.

The thing was that although Granger had, after some persuasion, volunteered herself for the experiments, this Pravus guy (who Nick, in the privacy of his own mind, had begun to refer to as "that motherfucker") had messed with the contract that Granger had demanded be drawn up for her protection. According to the account Athena had given, Pravus had tricked Granger by including an undetectable section of terms that overrode all of Granger's stipulations, and so when she'd signed it, it had essentially put her at Pravus's mercy...for an entire _decade._

Some sections of Athena's description of the goings-on in the Department of Mysteries were redacted, but the bits that were legible painted a fairly clear picture of how her time there had been spent. She'd undergone (among other things) relentless physical conditioning, forced mastery of an impressive number of types of combat, subjection to what she'd referred to as "magi-chemical experimentation," advanced magical instruction, tests of magical strength, and perhaps most disturbingly just for the sheer amount of blacked-out text that followed, "psychological re-conditioning." The only two words that were made available from the text that followed were enough to raise the hairs on the back of Nick's neck.

The S.H.I.E.L.D. Director fixed the Minister for Magic with a grim stare. "You wanna tell me why the page-long description of "methodical torture" is redacted?"

Shacklebolt's jaw clenched for the briefest instant. It took a moment for him to be able to reply, and even then, his voice was a monotone. "To protect her privacy," he responded, not elaborating.

Nick opened his mouth to press the point and see if he could maybe get the Minister to let something slip, but Natasha cut him off. "Leave it, Nick," she said quietly, without taking her gaze away the dossier in her hands. "If it's anything like what happened to me in the..." Her voice faltered and the Director felt a sudden pang of shame. Chastened, he went back to reading files.

Not five minutes later, Nick was absorbed in a particularly interesting section of text when, out of nowhere, a brilliant, swirling mass howled into being like a miniature tornado in front of the Minister's desk. A split-second passed and then it was gone, and in its wake stood a soot-covered, disheveled-looking man with a frantic look in his eyes. A woman was sprawled in the man's arms, unconscious, her head lolling back and forth on his shoulder.

Shacklebolt was instantly on his feet (as were the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents) and Nick was startled to see the strength of the fear in the Minister's eyes; the man was normally the paragon of staying calm under pressure.

Nick felt Natasha start to move from out behind him and reached out to touch her arm, shaking his head subtly; she'd been about to go into Widow mode, as evidenced by the glock she was now lowering at his unspoken request. Natasha'd picked out the dread in the Minister's eyes and figured that it would be best to take precautions; but judging by the way Shacklebolt's focus was on the woman rather than the man carrying her, Nick was fairly convinced the latter wasn't an immediate threat.

"Put her over here," the Minister urged the unidentified man, flicking his wand at one of the many armchairs in the room, which promptly morphed into a divan. As the man did as instructed, Shacklebolt asked, "What happened, Neville?"

The man named Neville glanced up at the Minister, his mouth a grim slit.

"She was right, Kingsley," he told Shacklebolt. "It was a setup. The warehouse was deserted, and the Muggle-borns and their families were already dead; they'd laid them out for us in the foyer, naked and beaten bloody." Neville's face was pale as a sheet underneath the grime on his skin. "It was definitely Lestrange, too—the same writing on the wall as the attack on Dromeda and Teddy, saying the same blood-purist shite."

"Bastard," cursed the Minister, having apparently forgotten his guests. "But what happened to the two of you, Neville?" As he spoke, Shacklebolt wove his wand through the air over the woman's body, and Nick watched in fascination as her face shimmered and her features began to morph. Nick glanced back at Natasha, whose eyes were wide with awe and trepidation at the knowledge of the power these people possessed. When he turned his gaze back to the woman's face, everything clicked into place; because lying there on the divan was none other than Athena.

"I reckon there were explosives hidden under the floor below the bodies. Hermi—" he cut himself off with a quick shake of the head, "—Athena—she started moving one of the Muggle-borns and then went really still and asked me to take him from her. Then she took out a section of the floor, got down, crawled towards it, and did something to whatever was there that got her yanked forward—her arm was pulled into the hole in the floor." Neville shook his head. "Next thing you know, she's ordering us all out of there, and she must have used some kind of spell because everyone Disapparated to the checkpoint at the same time, and nobody was Splinched or anything. No one had so much as a bloody paper cut." The man shook his head. "Not five seconds later, the warehouse exploded."

"I take it she managed to shield herself?" asked the Minister with a great sigh, tired admiration in his voice. As he spoke, he kept waving his wand over Athena, siphoning wisps of coloured light (which Nick could only guess were spells) from around her limbs.

"Yeah," replied Neville, his tone disbelieving. "The other Heads and I, we went back to recover her...in whatever condition she happened to be in...and she was there in the rubble, unconscious but covered in _layers_ of protective enchantments. Not all hers, though—some of them had foreign signatures, maybe even Dark ones, I'd say. Like the Magi meant for someone to survive."

"One out of a hundred, give or take," Shacklebolt pointed out, frowning as he thought it over. "A witness, most likely. They wanted to decimate the Auror forces and leave a single person alive to testify."

As his words sunk in, the Minister knelt beside Athena, still waving his wand this way and that, casting spells. Neville watched what he was doing anxiously, and Nick felt rather distinctly like he was intruding on a private moment.

Natasha stepped forward to the Director's side, raising an eyebrow at him when he looked over at her.

"A hundred lives, Nick?" Natasha murmured the question, her voice smoother than velvet and too quiet for anyone other than her friend to hear. "Sounds like someone we could use on the team."

Nick nodded; he'd been thinking just about the same thing.

A low, feminine groan sounded, causing the two S.H.I.E.L.D. operatives to snap their attention back to the woman lying on the divan—the woman whose vivid, violet irises were just visible as she squinted, adjusting to the brightness of the Minister's office.

"Mmmmm," moaned Athena, one hand coming up to rub at her eyes. A faint smile graced her lips as she asked, "Kings?" It came out as a rasp; Athena winced and cleared her throat. "Is that you?" she tried again.

"I'm here, Thena," Shacklebolt replied, "and we have company. Neville's here, and so are Director Fury and Agent Romanoff from—"

"—S.H.I.E.L.D.," Athena cut in, hissing in pain as she sat up. She scanned the room blearily and took note of its occupants, Nick and Natasha earning especially long looks as Athena's focus sharpened. "It's pleasure to meet the two of you," Athena addressed them sincerely, "although I have to admit that this isn't _exactly_ the first impression I'd intended to make."

"I'm sure that's true," Nick replied, "but all the same, it's sure as hell not a bad one."

"You know," interjected a smirking Natasha, "saving a hundred-some-odd operatives from being blown sky high and surviving an explosion at close proximity. Not too shabby."

Athena gave them a tiny, embarrassed grin. "I suppose not," she admitted. Her eyes glinted like amethysts under the glow of the chandelier as her gaze flicked away from the agents to take in Neville's soiled clothing and ash-smudged face. "Thank you," she told him softly. "You're the one who got me out, aren't you, Neville?"

He nodded, smiling sheepishly at her. "Figured you might have found a way to stay alive. Wasn't going to leave you in there."

She returned the smile, but it faltered slightly as a thought struck her. "Did everyone else make it out? I know Agent Romanoff said about a hundred, but—"

"Yes," Neville answered, putting an end to her worry. "You got them all out in time. I'm guessing you cast some kind of compulsion charm on your voice?"

"I did, yes," said Athena, wincing. "Not an ideal solution, but the only one I could think of with so little time left. By the time I got pulled in by the enchantment on the timer, I had about fifteen seconds left to act. The spells protecting the bomb were too elaborate to dismantle that quickly, and my mobility was compromised to boot." She turned her eyes to the Minister, who was still knelt beside the divan. "I promised to keep them alive. I had to do it," she said, almost pleading with him.

"Yes, you did," Shacklebolt agreed, taking one of her hands in his. "It's not the same, Thena. You did it for a brief moment to save their lives; it's not even comparable."

Athena peered at the Minister for a moment, searching his expression for any hint of a lie. Whatever she saw must have appeased her because when the moment passed, she visibly relaxed, nodding to herself. She squeezed Shacklebolt's hand twice and he stood, offered her his other hand as well, and, when she took it, helped her to her feet. She wobbled a bit, but the Minister and Neville both moved to steady her before she could fall. Shacklebolt flicked his wand at the divan and it morphed back into an armchair, on which Athena immediately and gingerly sat herself down, grimacing as she settled on the cushions.

"My wards were a little crude," she explained apologetically, "so I'm afraid there was a bit of blunt trauma to my back and my legs, but it can wait. Please, sit down."

Nick, Natasha, Neville, and the Minister all did as she asked without protest, much to Nick's amusement. If the four of them were any indication, this lady certainly had a way of wrapping people around her little finger.

"Neville, I want you to be here for this," Athena began once everyone was seated. "I wasn't sure you were ready—and to be frank, I'm still not completely convinced—but you came back for me out there, so I think I can trust you. Am I right?"

"Yes," Neville immediately replied, unwavering in his conviction. "You can trust me, Athena."

An appreciative smile tugged at her lips; he'd phrased that very deliberately.

"All right, then," said Athena, turning her attention back to the group at large. "I believe you and our guests have yet to be formally introduced, unless I missed something while I was unconscious...?"

There was a chorus of quiet negatives.

"Well, then. Neville, these two are Director Nicholas Fury and Agent Natasha Romanoff from the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division, more widely known as S.H.I.E.L.D. They're based in America, but operate internationally, and they deal in espionage, law enforcement, and counter-terrorism efforts in the non-magical world. Director Fury, Agent Romanoff, this is Neville Longbottom, Head of the Auror Office of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Now, I take it, Director, Agent Romanoff, that the Minister has shown you the files we compiled for your perusal?"

"Yes, he has," replied Nick, intrigued as to where she was going with all of this. "We haven't read all of them yet, but I think we have enough to get the gist of your background and current situation." Natasha nodded her confirmation while Neville simply glanced at them and then back at Athena, curious.

Athena caught the look and wove her fingers through the air in a funny, little motion; the stack of bound files on the desk proceeded to duplicate itself and once it had finished, the copied set levitated over to Neville and plunked itself down in his lap.

"For you to read when you get the chance," she told him. "Most of what has happened in my life since you last saw me is in there." The Auror nodded his thanks, fiddling with the cover's edge and fighting back the urge to open the topmost file.

"But Neville," Athena added, and when the man in question raised his eyes to hers, he stilled at the warning in her gaze. "You need to promise me that you'll destroy those files and never reveal the secrets they hold to _anyone_ without my permission."

Neville took out his wand and promptly swore, "I vow to protect the witch Athena's secrets with my life." His wand emitted a string of vibrant yellow sparks as the oath took effect.

Athena blinked in shock before she managed to bestow the Head Auror with a pleased, albeit wary, smile. "Your word would've sufficed, you know."

Neville grinned sheepishly and shrugged. "Just returning the favour. And anyhow, I'd rather make it official," he replied.

"Well, you certainly did that," Athena mused. "You're involved now, Auror Longbottom," she told him, the title rendered an endearment thanks to the fondness in her voice. "I sincerely hope you won't wind up regretting it."

Neville arched his eyebrows skeptically and Athena shook her head at him in exasperation. Her eyes flicked over to the two S.H.I.E.L.D. operatives; Agent Romanoff was smirking again and Director Fury, though he seemed slightly impatient to get on with things, was undoubtedly amused.

"Now, where were we?" Athena addressed them, chagrined. "Ah yes! As I said, this isn't exactly how I hoped we'd be meeting for the first time, but we're here now, so I may as well get to it. Since you've been read in by the Minister, you know what it is we've proposed. Essentially, I would like to offer myself as a candidate for the Avengers Initiative."

"Which you found out about by hacking into our system illegally," pointed out the Director, curious to see how she would defend her actions.

"Which indicates a flaw in your cyber-security, a flaw which I would be happy to bring to light and assist you in correcting should you decide to allow me to be a part of the Initiative," Athena replied calmly. "I would apologize for hacking into your system in the first place, but I can't bring myself to do so for two reasons.

"The first? I was still being controlled by the Department of Mysteries when I infiltrated S.H.I.E.L.D.'s network; they had me gather intelligence on a number of defense organizations, and yours just so happened to be among them.

"The second? If I hadn't been on that mission, I never would have discovered the Initiative." Athena smiled, maintaining direct eye contact at Fury so he could see her sincerity. "Quite frankly, it's the perfect solution to my current predicament and it would be mutually beneficial for us if I was included. And incidentally, Director," she said, a mischievous twinkle dancing in her violet eyes, "if I'm going to work for a spy agency, some practical experience in espionage is probably an asset."

"All right," the Director humoured her. "I'm listening. Make your case."

Athena smiled and then sighed. "The long and the short of how I feel about it is this," she told him, glancing at Natasha briefly to gauge her reaction as well. "Because of who I used to be, aside from assuming a permanent false identity, glamour and all—which I refuse to do—there is no way for me to rejoin wizarding society without causing a huge disruption and drawing unwanted attention to myself. The only way to earn a living in a way that suits my skills while simultaneously keeping out of the public eye would be to rejoin the Department of Mysteries, and I will _never_ voluntarily return to that godforsaken place unless...well." A bitter sneer twisted her mouth, souring her features. "But that's not really important. Suffice it to say, I have no appealing options left in the magical world.

"But at S.H.I.E.L.D.?" Athena bared her teeth in a smile worthy of the Cheshire Cat. "I'm an unknown—it would be incredibly easy to come up with a cover story for me, to explain away my abilities as the product of a one-time phenomenon, not unlike what happened to Steve Rogers.

"And I could be an asset to you, Director." She had his full attention now; his good eye was regarding her intently as he weighed the merit of her argument. "I'm a magically powerful, highly skilled witch, and if that isn't enough of a reason to want me on the team, I'm trained in covert ops, a range of combative styles—well, but you know that. You've read the files. Put me through as many tests as you like, assess me. I'd be willing to learn whatever's required."

Athena leaned forward. "Director Fury, Agent Romanoff...I was practically _made_ to be an Avenger. Please: let me join you. I want to help."

She stopped and let that sit with Nick and Natasha for a moment, allowing them to collect their thoughts.

"Before I say anything else," started the Director, having reached a decision but aware nonetheless of a flaw in her plans, "what about the magical folk who still keep tabs on our world because of family and all that?" Nick pondered aloud. "Muggle-borns, the file called them, right? Wouldn't they recognize you if you're going around on high-profile missions and something gets recorded? It's a definite possibility—and I get the feeling you're not about the idea of constantly changing your face."

Athena quirked a brow. "I could always wear a mask," she replied wryly. "That's the type of thing you're going for anyways, isn't it?"

At that, Natasha laughed openly, causing Nick to turn to her, incredulous. He'd never seen anyone other than Barton crack her up that easily.

"Oh, Fury, we've got to keep her," Natasha appealed, still chuckling. "I need a chick like this one on the team—she'll help me balance out all of the testosterone." The two women smirked at each other in commiseration, a tentative friendship already forming.

Nick shook his head in disbelief.

"Well, given the endorsement from the Black Widow," he told Athena, thoroughly entertained, "and as long as the terms we discussed are still in place, Minister," Shacklebolt nodded his confirmation, "I think I've made up my mind."

The Director stood abruptly, closely followed by his fellow spy, and Athena pushed herself up from her armchair with help from the Minister and Head Auror. Nick Fury reached a hand out to the witch across from him and she took it, a small but eager smile on her face.

"Welcome, Athena, to the Avengers Initiative," said the Director, and they shook on it.

* * *

 _ **Thanks for reading! Please leave a review if you can spare a moment. :) Until next time!**_


	6. 4: Flight from the Past to the Future

**A/N: Hi everyone! I'm back with another chapter. I know it's been quite awhile; my only, shameless excuse is that life is busy these days. This story is not and will not be abandoned, but I _will_ unfortunately be taking my sweet time writing it ;)**

 **Quick question for anyone who'd be interested: do any of you ship Bruce/Natasha? Because—and this is just a personal opinion; I respect anyone who disagrees with it—I honestly don't see it. Like, at all. I've tried and I just can't get into it, and I don't know why. Maybe it's just a lack of chemistry between ScarJo and Mark Ruffalo or maybe (more likely) it's the clunky/lackluster relationship progression in the Age of Ultron script, but I think Romanoff has better chemistry with Steve Rogers—hell, with Clint!** — **than she does with Bruce Banner. Going into Age of Ultron, I thought they might have potential together based on their scenes in The Avengers, but man, oh man, was I ever wrong.**

 **Again, this is all IMO.**

 **Anyways XD Rant over. Leave your thoughts in a review if you'd like to respond to it and/or comment on the goings-on in this chapter.**

 **Here's your next installment. It's a short one and mainly filler, but honestly, I'm just surprised I managed to churn _something_ out for you guys. All the same, I hope you enjoy it!**

* * *

 **Disclaimer:** I own neither Harry Potter nor the Marvel Cinematic Universe. No copyright infringement is intended in the sharing of this story, and I receive no compensation for its publication on this site. It is written and shared purely for enjoyment.

 **For warnings about content, see the first half of the prologue.**

* * *

From the comforting embrace of Kingsley's arms, Athena watched as, one-by-one, her few personal belongings shrank themselves down to miniature scale and floated into a small, black trunk, arranging themselves neatly and strategically in its various pockets and compartments.

Once their meeting with Director Fury and Agent Romanoff ended, the couple had seen the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents off safely to Muggle London before journeying to their apartment to get Athena packed and ready. At 7 o'clock that evening, she would be departing from Heathrow with the two spies on a supersonic flight to New York, where they would get her settled into a condo in Manhattan not far from Stark Tower.

"Are you _absolutely_ sure we need to do this, Kings?" Athena asked wistfully, running her hands over his forearms where they rested over her waist and leaning back into his torso for support.

"I don't think we have much of a choice, Thena," replied Kingsley, nuzzling his cheek against the curve of her neck and pressing a light kiss to the bare skin of her collarbone. "We owe it to ourselves _and_ to each other to be honest about the fact that—given the circumstances—this isn't going to work. We're rarely going to see each other from now on, between your new job and mine," he pointed out sadly. "As painful as it is, I'd rather part from you now on good terms than risk that any sort of resentment affects our friendship."

Athena gently pried Kingsley's grip from her body and turned herself in his arms so that she was facing him. Her hands slid up his torso to frame his face as she gazed at him solemnly; and then, with a small nod of agreement, she was pulling him down to her level and kissing him with an aching gentleness. He closed his eyes, committing every part of it to memory: her warm, lithe body sinking languidly into his embrace; the sigh she gave when their mouths pressed against one another as though coming home; the contradiction of her lips, somehow soft despite being chapped from the abuse of anxious teeth.

It was wonderful and it was terrible. It was an ending.

Athena let the kiss slow and with one last, gentle peck of her lover's lips, she withdrew, her eyes gleaming.

"You'll always be dear to me, Kingsley Shacklebolt," she promised, her voice hoarse but no less earnest for that. "You've been a wonderful partner—I can't thank you enough. I've said it before and I'll say it again: I don't know what I'd have done without you, or whom I would have become." Kingsley frowned and seemed about to protest but stopped at the reproachful look in Athena's eyes. "No, don't deny it," she chastised him lightly. "If it hadn't been for you, things might have gone very differently. Merlin's sake, I could've gone freelance! Can you imagine the damage I would have done as an assassin-for-hire?" She shook her head, her face tight with revulsion at the thought, her body tensing with stress.

Kingsley brought a hand up to rest on the curve between her neck and her shoulder and ran his thumb along the column of her throat; Athena instantly relaxed, sighing and closing her eyes at the familiar gesture.

"But you didn't, Thena," he reassured her, and the richness of his baritone washed over her soothingly. "You followed your instincts and came and found me, and it never came to that. Ever since you got away from the D.O.M., you've made the right choices. And we know that this is the next step, you going with the Avengers. You're ready, and you're going to be bloody _brilliant,_ love."

Athena opened her eyes and was greeted by Kingsley's warm gaze; his brown eyes positively overflowed with his faith in her, and it made her feel strong. A grin curved her lips, and she tried to communicate the depth of her gratitude through the way she looked at him.

"If you ever, _ever,_ need anything, Kings," Athena told her lover, the smile bleeding into her voice, "well—you know my address in New York. I'll be sure to key the wards to you." A hint of mischief flashed in her eyes. "You know where I work, too," she mused, "but somehow I doubt I'll be spending much time at headquarters; I don't know about you."

Kingsley chuckled. "Somehow, I can't help but imagine the same," he remarked, a smile to match hers gracing his lips, his acknowledgement of her offer implicit in his expression.

As he spoke, the Portkey sitting on their bed glowed blue and vibrated loudly twice: the thirty-second warning.

With a sad, bracing smile and a wink, Athena extricated herself from Kingsley's arms. She crossed the room to collect the small, unassuming suitcase that had finished packing itself—her sole piece of luggage—and zipped it open for a moment to retrieve an old, embossed case.

With a snap of her fingers, her wand flew into her hand. Athena placed it reverently into the crushed velvet interior and snapped the case shut before returning it to the depths of her suitcase; the leather holster that usually held her wand followed immediately after it.

Once those last items had been stowed away, the suitcase zipped itself shut once again and Athena easily lifted it from her desk over to the bed. Her free hand took hold of one end of the Portkey; they'd made it from a long purple scarf of Kingsley's so that he could use it for the return trip. The Minister approached the bed and copied her actions, wrapping the mauve wool around his palm.

As the final few seconds ticked down, Kingsley pulled Athena in close for one last, private embrace. They clung to each other tightly, almost desperately; she turned her head to look up at him and he leaned forward, pressing a lingering kiss to her forehead that had her eyes falling shut in fleeting, unexpected contentment.

Then, the Portkey pulsed and glowed a deep, electric blue, and in a blur of light, they were gone.

* * *

Not a half hour later, after saying her final goodbye to Kingsley, being swept through customs at lightning speed, and being ushered to a secluded hanger at the far end of the airport, Athena was whisked aboard a S.H.I.E.L.D. aircraft by an impatient Nick Fury and a thoroughly entertained Natasha Romanoff.

The second the three of them had entered the cabin, Nick made for the cockpit in a streak of black leather. Overhearing his snappish order to the pilot to "take off already, dammit! We're behind schedule!", the two women exchanged a look of exasperated amusement.

"He does realize we just made it through Heathrow at an unprecedented speed, right?" Athena murmured to Natasha, fighting a grin as her eyes lingered on the open door to the dimly-lit cockpit.

Agent Romanoff's expression was suspiciously smooth. "Of course," she replied, her matter-of-fact tone belied by the glint in her eyes. "But he has a reputation to maintain, you know."

Athena laughed lightly, nodding. "That he does," she agreed, meeting Natasha's mirthful, gray-green stare before she refocused her attention on hefting her suitcase into an overhead compartment. "Nicholas J. Fury, S.H.I.E.L.D.'s formidable leader, the dark and mysterious super-spy—he could never allow himself to seem happy with a trip through airport security, no matter how efficient the experience. It would set a dangerous precedent."

When Athena turned back to the infamous Black Widow, her luggage safely stowed away in the compartment, she caught the involuntary, telltale twitch of the corner of the woman's mouth. Pleased by the reaction, the witch worked to suppress a grin of her own.

At Romanoff's insistence, Athena made her way to the set of cream-coloured recliners a little further into the cabin and chose a window seat, sliding on her safety belt and settling in for the flight. Meanwhile, even as the plane shifted into gear and began to make its way towards the runway, Natasha called out from over by the bar, "Can I get you a drink, Athena? Water, or something stronger?"

"Just water would do perfectly thanks," Athena replied, raising her voice so that the spy would be able to hear her over the hum of the engine. A few moments later, the S.H.I.E.L.D. agent rejoined her, passing Athena a chilled bottle of water and taking the seat across from her, a bottle of her own in hand.

"Well," Romanoff exclaimed, eyeing Athena with a measured stare and a deceptively relaxed grin, "I'd ask if you'd ever been to New York before, but I think we both know the answer to that question."

Athena let out a peal of shameless laughter. "Yes, we do," she allowed, smiling openly at the woman in front of her. "Although, this time around, I'm hoping to see more of the city than its covert intelligence facilities. Outside of S.H.I.E.L.D., they've tended to be rather dreary."

It was Natasha's turn to laugh, and a bit of the guardedness left her eyes. "Right?" she agreed. "The FBI and the CIA have an unhealthy obsession with the colour gray. And all those cubicles—it's a travesty, really."

Athena's eyes sparkled. "Almost criminal," she quipped, cracking open the bottle in her hands and taking a sip of water. Natasha mimicked her, using the action to help her bite back the smile threatening her lips.

As the brunette turned her gaze out the window to the dusk-tinted scenery beyond the glass, the Black Widow's evaluation of her became more overtly appraising.

"So," the witch began, eyes on the shifting view at her side as the plane began to roll towards the runway, "which of our fellow Avengers have you met so far?"

"Mm," hummed Agent Romanoff, quickly downing a gulp of water. "Well," she replied, reflecting upon the question, "Agent Barton and I are...close. We've known each other for a long time now, gone on a lot of missions together. But I haven't met Steve Rogers yet, or Bruce Banner." A grin spread slowly across her face. "I _have_ met Stark, though."

"And I take it he's a character?" Athena asked, picking up on her companion's tone even before she turned her gaze back upon said woman and saw her mirthful expression.

Natasha laughed. "That's the understatement of the year," she responded. "Tony Stark might have the most inflated ego I've ever come across—and that's saying something, given the number of the _charmers_ I've dealt with over the years. Granted, he has more to brag about than most, but just between you and me," the agent lowered her voice confidentially, green eyes sparkling, "I think he overcompensates."

The two women chuckled together. Athena took a long drink, exhaling contentedly as the cool water soothed her throat. "In that case, I may have to make it a side project to teach him a little humility."

The S.H.I.E.L.D. agent snorted. "If you manage it, I'll be forever grateful. Somehow I doubt you will, though, meaning no offence. Stark," Romanoff paused, searching for the right words, and then smirked as they came to her. "Well—Stark is a piece of work."

"I'll keep that in mind," Athena assured her. "How do you think he'll react to the fact that magic exists?"

The Black Widow's expression became thoughtful. "Mm...good question. I think his reaction will be complicated. On the one hand, he'll probably be suspicious and see magic as a something of a new threat to deal with, a challenge to overcome. Which is understandable, really," Romanoff added, the grin accompanying her words worthy of the Cheshire cat. Athena tipped her head in acknowledgement of the agent's point. "Oh," Natasha continued, a new thought occurring to her, "and if I know Stark at all, he'll also try to convince you to help him create weapons resistant to magic."

"I see," said Athena, frowning slightly. "Hm. Well, we'll cross that bridge when we come to it. I'm not completely opposed to the idea, but I would need some assurances."

"It's generous of you to even consider it," Natasha remarked. "I'm not sure I'd be as understanding. But anyways, about what else you should expect from Stark...I'd say brace yourself for a cheesy nickname and a lot—and I mean _a lot_ —of questions."

Athena laughed. "Duly noted," she replied, amusement lingering about her expression, and with that, the two moved on to other subjects.

* * *

The rest of the trip passed in carefully light-hearted conversation, during which the Widow gently poked and prodded her new ally, constantly assessing, and the witch endured her efforts with good humour. After all, she was giving as good as she got—and enjoying the repartee all the while.

Fury briefly joined the pair about halfway through the flight, coming up for air from under the mound of paperwork he'd been tackling in his private study. He and Agent Romanoff quickly and methodically updated Athena on her new living situation in New York.

Aside from the odd question here or there, Athena accepted what they told her without comment—with one notable exception...

* * *

"We've found you a small apartment in Manhattan, close to both S.H.I.E.L.D.'s Headquarters and Stark Tower," Fury told his new recruit. "Now, as you know, I took the liberty of giving your Minister the address."

The witch nodded, a light smile gracing her lips.

"Well," the Director went on, "he just sent word that when you arrive, there will be an American wand permit waiting for you, registered under the alias of Minerva Shepherd."

Athena's eyebrows rose in disbelief.

" _Minerva_ _Shepherd_?" she echoed, the words a scoff. "Of all the—"

The witch cut herself off and sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose in exasperation.

"I need to have a long talk with that man. _Minerva Shepherd..._ honestly. He can't be serious!"

Agent Romanoff's mouth twitched, and she couldn't help but to glance over at the Director.

Nick Fury met her eyes and smirked.

* * *

 **Next chapter: Athena meets a few more of the Avengers, and the real action begins.**

 **Please R &R if you can spare a moment. Thanks!**


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